Digital heart book

But the FLYING
SCUD? a deep-water tramp, who was lime-juicing around
between big ports, Calcutta and Rangoon and 'Frisco and
the Canton River? No, I don't see it."
We were leaning over the gunwale of the boat as we
spoke. The captain stood nearest the bow, and he was
idly playing with the trailing painter, when a thought
arrested him. He hauled the line in hand over hand,
and stared, and remained staring, at the end.
"Anything wrong with it?" I asked.
"Do you know, Mr. Dodd," said he, in a queer voice,
"this painter's been cut? A sailor always seizes a
rope's end, but this is sliced short off with the cold
steel. This won't do at all for the men," he added.
"Just stand by till I fix it up more natural."
"Any guess what it all means?" I asked.
"Well, it means one thing," said he. "It means Trent
was a liar. I guess the story of the FLYING SCUD
was a sight more picturesque than he gave out."
Half an hour later the whaleboat was lying astern of
the NORAH CREINA; and Nares and I sought our bunks,
silent and half-bewildered by our late discoveries.


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